


breathe me in, breathe me out

by bellowbacks



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Fix-It of Sorts, Happy Ending, M/M, Poltergeist AU, Post-Canon, The Turtle (IT) CAN Help Us
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:21:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21516745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellowbacks/pseuds/bellowbacks
Summary: Eddie Kaspbrak died, but something tied him to Richie Tozier, and now Eddie finds himself haunting the disgraced, mourning comedian.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 3
Kudos: 179





	breathe me in, breathe me out

Richie’s apartment is trashed. It’s not especially big, or as nice as Eddie knows Richie could afford, and every flat surface excluding the floor has pizza boxes, chinese take out trash, empty bottles of God knows what, and laundry. It makes Eddie want to explode.

But he can’t. He can’t even talk to Richie, because he’s dead. 

He got stabbed through the middle by a psychotic clown creature from the beginning of time or whatever the fuck, and now he’s dead, and apparently haunting famed comedian Richie Tozier. Or, well. Uh. Maybe not as famed as he once was, after the aforementioned psychotic clown creature incident. 

“Fuck,” Richie mumbles when he wakes up on his dirty couch. He doesn’t even have a blanket covering him, just an old sweatshirt over boxers and two mis-matched socks with holes in the toes. 

“You’re a goddamn wreck, Trashmouth,” Eddie mumbles from where he’s floating in nonexistence a couple of feet from Richie. Richie doesn’t respond, but of course he doesn’t. He thinks Eddie’s dead, which he is, but he’s also right here.

The first few days as Richie’s ghost was a nightmare, but at least Eddie got out all of his stages of grief for his own death right away so now he can just… exist? Be miserable alongside Richie? It’s still infuriating, but it’s almost given way to apathy. Not for Richie. Eddie could never feel anything but a white-hot love and a darker, thicker guilt when he’s with Richie. The same feelings he’s felt since they were kids still linger, except now Eddie knows what they are. 

Especially now that he’s a ghost and all of his physical sensations are gone. He can scream and hit the wall and try to lift and smash a plate, but he feels nothing but that deep love he had forgotten for those 27 years. It’s all phasing through walls and his hands going through cups like air and sharp, undying love for the depressed idiot in front of him.

Richie’s phone rings, and he picks it up from the floor and answers it. 

“Bev,” he mumbles. Eddie floats closer and holds his ear closer to the cell phone to listen in. He got over his guilt for invading Richie’s personal space after about a day and a half, when Richie got absolutely trashed and vomited all over his bathroom. If Eddie could’ve left then, he would’ve, so he figures he’s earned this.

“Hey, Richie. How are you doing?” Beverly asks. Her voice is gentle but withdrawn, and Eddie rolls his eyes. Trying to be soft and tender with Richie Tozier was never going to be the right move. He’s the Trashmouth, and he needs trashmouth right back. 

Richie rolls onto his back on the couch. “Fine,” he answers, “Except you know that’s a lie, so I don’t know why you keep asking,” he sighs. “I feel like shit, Bev. I can’t see that going away any time soon.” His voice is hoarse and thick with sleep and crying and Eddie’s hands itch to make him a cup of lemon tea. 

There’s silence on the other end of the phone call, and Eddie sighs and sits as best he can with his back to the foot of the couch, taking care to avoid the piles of laundry and disgusting plates piled on the floor. Richie rolls over and his foot phases right through Eddie’s chest. It still feels weird, but Eddie doesn’t flinch anymore. 

“I love you, Richie,” Bev says. “Me and Ben will fly out to LA in a heartbeat if you need us.” 

Richie is quiet for a moment. “I know, I know. I love you both too. I’ll be okay.”

“You’re a fucking liar, Rich,” Eddie mutters. 

“Promise me you’ll take care of yourself, okay?” Beverly says, and Richie mumbles some noncommittal agreement. 

The phone call ends, and Eddie looks up at Richie. “Please eat something, or shower, or do anything good for your emotional and physical wellbeing,” he says softly. Richie stares at the ceiling for a few minutes. “Bastard.”

Another thing that’s different as a ghost is time. Even if hours pass, Eddie doesn’t get tired, he doesn’t get bored, and time feels like nothing. When Richie sleeps, Eddie can sit and watch him for the entire night and it feels like minutes. When Richie showers, Eddie sits against the door to give him privacy. An hour could pass, or minutes could, and Eddie wouldn’t be any the wiser. This also means he doesn’t really know how long it’s been since he died. Oh well. Richie’s kept him informed.

When Richie finally gets up from the couch, Eddie does as well. Richie walks slowly towards his bathroom, which is incrementally less trashed than the rest of the apartment, and stares at himself in the mirror. 

“He’s dead, Tozier,” he mutters to his reflection. “Get the fuck over yourself.”

Eddie feels that gurgling guilt consume him again, and he reaches out to touch Richie’s face instinctively. His hand passes right through him, as expected, and he steps outside of the bathroom to give Richie privacy as he starts undressing. 

Richie doesn’t close the door, but Eddie still stays turned away. He knows that if he was alive his face would be bright red and he would be sputtering out some sort of defensive “Shut the door, you fucking voyeristic motherfucker”, and then Richie would make some sort of joke about how yes, he is a motherfucker, and Eddie would get even redder. 

Instead, Richie strips, and gets in the shower, and Eddie walks around Richie’s small apartment. His hands itch to clean, but he’s tried, and nothing works. He can’t touch anything. Richie’s bedroom is tolerable, but that’s just because he hasn’t slept in there in days. His laptop is sitting on his bedside table open to a document he had been trying to write new material in, but Richie had given up on that pursuit quickly. 

Richie takes a long shower. 

Eddie sits on the floor and stares at the wall until Richie is done. 

When Richie leaves the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, Eddie averts his eyes, as he has every other time, but this time, something interrupts them. 

Someone knocks on Richie’s door. 

Richie seems about as confused as Eddie is, as he walks over to the apartment door and peers out the peephole. “What,” he whispers, and Eddie is about to phase through the door and look, but then Richie opens the door. 

“Bill?” he says dumbly, and sure enough, standing on Richie’s apartment’s stoop is Big Bill Denbrough, and Eddie can’t help but smile. 

“Yes, please, he needs someone to take care of him,” he says to Bill’s deaf ears. 

“Hey Rich, I, uh, I wanted to c-ch-check in on you,” he says with a forced half-smile. Richie sighs. 

“Beverly put you up to this, didn’t she?” he asks quietly, but also steps away from the door so Bill can enter, which he does. Richie closes the door. “Let me get dressed,” he mumbles, and then he goes back into his bedroom, and Bill sits down on the grossest couch in all of Los Angeles. Eddie winces when Bill’s definitely very expensive “I’m a famous author” slacks touch the sticky, green corduroy of Richie’s Goodwill-ass couch, and Bill lifts his leg a little as if he can feel the gunk pressed into the fabric.

Eddie moves to walk through the table and sit with Bill, but his shin catches on the wood frame of the table and he stumbles forward.

“Ow, fuck,” he mutters, and then his eyes go wide and he freezes, hovering above the table. Bill’s eyes flick in the direction of Eddie, looking straight through his chest, and then he turns to Richie’s room. 

Bill frowns. “Richie, did you fall?” he calls. 

“No?” Richie calls back. He peers out of his cracked bedroom door and pulls his glasses on. “Why?”

“I thought I heard something fall,” Bill says. 

“Nope,” Richie shrugs, “Maybe your expectations fell. Booyah.” He closes the door behind him.

Bill looks at him, wildly unimpressed, and Eddie rubs at his calf. Why the fuck…? What’s changed, besides Bill being here?

“That sucked, Richie,” Bill calls, and Eddie nods aggressively in agreement, and then he sits down next to the coffee table on the floor. There’s an empty paper cup from when Richie DoorDashed McDonald’s yesterday, and he tries to push it over. His hand phases right through it, and he frowns. He tries again, and the same thing happens.

“Fuck!” he groans and shifts closer on the carpet. 

Right as he’s about to try to push it over again, Richie steps out of his bedroom. His hair is brushed, and he’s wearing a dark blue henley and jeans. Eddie looks over at him and his jaw drops a little. It’s the cleanest Eddie has seen Richie since 1989, and it’s overwhelming. He drops his hand down on the table, but he misjudges the distance and smacks the edge of the cup. 

Eddie whips around and stares at it. The cup falls on the carpet, the straw and last few drops of Mountain Dew flying out of the open mouth. 

“Holy shit,” he says, right as Richie says the same. 

“W-what was that?” Bill asks and points at the cup. 

Richie is quiet for a second, staring directly at the cup on the ground. “It’s probably nothing,” he says finally, and Eddie could strangle him. 

“It’s me, you fucking idiot, I’m right here, look at me,” he yells and jumps around and pushes himself right in front of Richie’s face just like he did the first day he realized he was a ghost. “I’m right here, I’m right here!”

“The w-wind,” Bill adds weakly. Richie walks right through Eddie’s chest and sits down next to Bill. 

“Fuck, fucking christ, fucking ghost shit, holy shit,” Eddie swears and paces the length of the living room a few times. “I couldn’t do anything before, but now I hit my leg- which fucking hurts, by the way- and pushed that goddamn disgusting cup over, and there’s no way you’re going to pick that shit up, so you’re going to get ants because you drink that gross ass soda,” he mutters. Bill and Richie are talking about the state of the apartment, but Eddie is seeing red. 

“Yeah, uh, sorry it’s a mess,” Richie says dumbly. “I’ve been…”

“I know, it’s ok-k-kay,” Bill says and rubs Richie’s shoulder. 

“It’s not! It’s not fucking okay, he’s not okay, he’s miserable,” Eddie screams, and then he reaches forward, grabs the edge of the table, and flips it upside down, sending old pizza boxes and half full water cups flying. 

Then he blacks out. 

When Eddie wakes up, his first thought is this: _Hey, this is a first_. 

His second thought is more along the lines of _ohshitohfuckIfuckedupRichie’s_ -

Richie. Richie. _Richie_. 

“Richie,” Eddie calls out, and then he remembers where he is. Richie is asleep in his bed, and he is sitting in a chair in the corner of Richie’s bedroom. It’s dark, and it’s dirty, and Richie is snoring. 

Bill is in the living room, Eddie knows. How he knows that, he doesn’t know, but Bill is in the living room, and Richie is asleep in bed. Eddie stands up and walks over to him. He doesn’t have any blankets on him, which makes Eddie frown. Sure, his bedding is probably gross from all of his nightmare sweat and alcohol he’s spilled, but Eddie tries to grab it and pull it over him anyways. 

It doesn’t work, but he tries again, taking a deep breath. This time, he’s able to grab onto the edge of the blanket and yank it up over Richie’s shoulders. 

“Oh, fuck, that’s exhausting,” he mutters as his vision swims and he feels dizzy. 

He sits down, and closes his eyes, and time passes in the dark.

Eddie doesn’t open his eyes again until there’s another knock at the door. 

Richie is out of bed, and Eddie can hear him in the living room doing some sort of stupid accent. It makes him smile, despite himself. 

Then, he hears Beverly, and he scrambles to his feet. Since when the fuck did she get here? He heads for Richie’s bedroom door and phases through it, except he doesn’t, and he slams his nose directly into the wood and grunts. 

“Aw, fuck, what the fuck,” he groans and holds his nose. It’s not broken, if it even could get broken, and there’s no blood, if he can even bleed, but it still hurts like shit. 

“Hello?” Ben calls from the other room. Could they hear him?

“Ben?” he calls back. He tries to touch the door handle, and he finds that he can on the first try, and he opens the door. “Holy shit,” he mutters and then looks up. Everyone’s looking in his direction, but then Richie turns to Ben, Bill, and Beverly. He’s wearing a red shirt now, to conveniently show Eddie that time has passed. 

“See? I’m fucking haunted,” he says, “Did you see that door?”

“Yeah,” Beverly nods and then she’s stepping forwards towards Eddie, who reaches out. 

“Bev, I’m right here,” he says, and his voice is muffled and thick now that his nose is hurt, but she doesn’t seem to hear him regardless, and then she steps right through him. “Bev, please,” he whispers, and then he’s out again, and the blackness of nothing feels all consuming.

“I’m gonna shower,” Bill says. Eddie blinks his eyes open to see the four Losers sitting around Richie’s now slightly cleaner living room- Eddie can see that his trash can is stuffed completely full and he can’t help but smile fondly, the love of his life is so fucking gross- and Bill is standing up. The table is back where it belongs. 

“Okay,” Richie says, “I’m going to sit here and wallow in the fact that not only did I just kill a fucking insane space clown and lost two of my goddamn best friends, but now I’m haunted, and isn’t that just great.”

Beverly is sitting next to Richie on the couch, and she wraps her arm around his shoulders. “We’re going to figure it out. We’ve done a lot of weirder stuff, okay?” she says and leans against Richie. He leans against her head and nods. Eddie notices a bandage on Richie’s forehead, and he realizes that he must’ve hit him with the table. Shit. 

It’s quiet for a few minutes as Bill starts to shower, and then Richie presses his face into Beverly’s hair and mumbles something. 

“What?” Ben says softly and leans forward. 

“I wish Eddie was here,” Richie whispers, and then he starts crying. Beverly pulls him into a proper hug and he hides his face in her shoulder. “He would make a fucking joke, and I would make it about his mom, and he would make that fucking cute ass face he always did when I did that, even when we were back in Derry.”

“I’m right here, Richie,” Eddie says quietly. He knows he can’t be heard, but he can’t let Richie suffer in silence. 

“I loved him so much,” Richie sobs into Beverly’s shirt. “I fucking loved him, like in the big stupid gay way, and he went and fucking died, Bev.”

Eddie cries. 

He didn’t know he could, not when he’s like this, but tears well up in his eyes, he finds it hard to breathe, and his vision goes blurry. It’s somewhere in between what his mother called an asthma attack and what adult Eddie knows as letting himself feel emotions for once in his sad goddamn life, and he hates it. 

“Richie, Rich, you fucker, I love you,” he whispers back through his tears. And fuck, he really did. He always had. 

The shower turns off, and Eddie gets an idea. Sure, it might be cliche as fuck, but if it can stop this, who gives a shit. He wipes his face and goes to the bathroom. He phases through the door successfully this time as he focuses, and then he looks at the mirror. Thank God Bill still takes hot ass showers; the mirror is super foggy. Perfect. Bill is drying off, but Eddie doesn’t pay him any attention. 

He lifts his finger up to the mirror and focuses. He thinks about what he wants to say, and he starts to drag his finger through the fog. It takes more energy than he expected it to, and by the time he’s done with the first word, he can feel the edges of his vision blacking out like they have before, so he quickly slashes through it to make it clear before he’s in that dark space, nonexistent, yet again. 

When he wakes up, he’s still in the bathroom, but so is everyone else. 

“Who else could it be, Richie,” Ben says softly, and Richie is still crying, “It’s what Eddie had on his cast.”

“Eddie died, Ben, he’s gone, you can’t get my fucking hopes up. Bill,” Richie says, “you didn’t do this, right?”

Bill shakes his head. “I would never.”

Richie exits the bathroom, pushing past Beverly and Ben to do so, and Eddie feels like he’s going to scream.

“I’m right fucking here, asshole,” he says. He tries to draw in the fog again, but it’s quickly fading now that the door is open, and his energy is low. 

“I’m going to go out,” Ben says slowly, “And buy a ouija board.”

Bill looks at him. “Are you s-serious?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“If it might help them communicate, I don’t know what else would help, Bill,” Ben says and shrugs helplessly. “Have we heard from Mike?”

“No,” Beverly answers. 

“Don’t bother Mike with my bullshit, he has more important stuff to do,” Eddie mutters. 

“I’m going to go get one,” Ben decides. 

“Do you have a car?” Bill asks, and Ben shakes his head. “Take mine, the keys are on the table by the door.”

“Thanks, Bill,” Ben says and leaves the bathroom. 

When he’s gone, Beverly looks at Bill. “Do you really think it’s Eddie?” she asks quietly. 

“Who else w-would it be?” Bill says and shrugs. “He was always closest to Richie, those two had something d-d-different than we all d-did.”

Beverly looks at the mirror, the final edges of LOVER fading into the clean mirror. Eddie rubs at his face, still as smooth shaven as the day he died. The word felt apt, it felt so appropriate it hurt his heart to see the word slowly disappear into his own reflected face. 

“I hope Ben’s idea works.”

Ben gets back quickly. Eddie has been lurking in the corner, trying to regain his strength before he can try to fuck around with the ouija board. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Richie says as soon as Ben shows what he bought. “There’s no goddamn way.”

“Please, can we try?” Beverly asks Richie, her hand resting lightly on his arm, and Richie takes a deep breath, and then nods. 

“Fucking fine, but you’re helping me move house if this thing tries to kill us,” he says. 

They turn off all of the lights and set the board on the table Eddie knocked over earlier. There’s only four of them, so Richie and Beverly sit on one side of the table and Ben and Bill sit on the other. They set the planchette in the center of the board, and Ben presses his fingers to the top of it. 

Beverly follows, and then Bill, and then Richie finally joins them.

“How does this fucking… Kid’s toy even work?” Richie mutters. 

“Shh,” Beverly says. “Ben’s going to ask the questions. If there’s a ghost, it’ll move the planchette. If nothing happens, we laugh about it and order chinese food.”

Richie sighs, but he doesn’t withdraw his fingers. 

“We have to warm it up,” Ben says, “Move it in circles, and then I’ll start.”

They do that, and Richie only rolls his eyes twice. Eddie settles in at the head of the table and reaches out to touch the planchette. His fingers touch chilly wood, and he exhales. Here’s hoping this works. 

“Is there someone here with us?” Ben asks, and Eddie tries to push the planchette towards YES. He overestimates, and the planchette starts to fall off the board. He pulls it back, and centers it on YES. 

Richie looks unimpressed. Eddie starts bouncing his leg. “C’mon, Rich, I’m right here,” he whispers. 

They center the planchette again. 

Ben glances up at Beverly and then speaks again, “Are you a member of the Losers club?” 

Eddie pushes it towards YES, and Richie drops his head to his chest. 

“Don’t fuck with me like this,” Richie whispers. “This is cruel.”

“I’m not moving it, Richie,” Ben says, and pulls his hand away as it moves. Beverly does the same, and then Bill, and Then Richie and Eddie are the only two holding it as Eddie pushes it towards YES, and then centers it again. 

“Ask him,” Beverly whispers. 

Richie looks at her. His eyes are red, and Eddie can see that even through his thick ass glasses, and he swallows hard. “Eddie?” Richie whispers, and Eddie pushes it towards YES again. Richie pulls his hand away like he’s been shocked, but Eddie keeps moving it towards YES until it’s circling the word. 

It’s now or never, Eddie thinks, and he drags the planchette towards I. 

“I,” Bev says quietly. Ben leans over and peers under the table, but Eddie just keeps moving it. “I, F, U, C, K, E- Oh my fucking god,” Beverly whispers. “Richie, he fucked your mom.”

Eddie slides it towards YES without even finishing the phrase, and then he tries to reach out and touch Richie. His hand touches solid, warm skin on Richie’s face, and Richie jumps. 

“What the fuck,” he whispers, and then Eddie runs his hand back and into Richie’s hair. 

“I’m here,” he breathes through his tears. “I’m right here, I’m here.”

“Eds,” Richie says, and he looks right up and into Eddie’s eyes. “Eds, Eddie.”

“Can you see me?” Eddie says and wipes his face with his free hand, cursing his gross, snotty crying. 

“Holy shit,” Beverly says, and Eddie looks around. They’re all staring at him, and he’s all but sitting in Richie’s lap, and then he blacks out again. 

This time, when it’s dark, he isn’t alone. There’s another presence in the space, and even though Eddie can’t see him, he can feel power, and electricity, and something he can’t put his finger on. 

“Hello?” he says, and his voice echoes in the chamber. His face is clear and he’s not crying, he doesn’t even feel the emotions that were so strong they could’ve killed him again just thirty seconds ago. 

YOU ARE EDWARD KASPBRACK.

“Yeah, I am, uh, Eddie,” he says.

YOU ARE LOVED, EDDIE. YOU AND YOUR FRIENDS… I HAVE NEVER MET ANYBODY LIKE YOU.

“Why am I a ghost?” Eddie asks. “Can I just die?” It feels like begging, and Eddie lets himself swallow his pride. 

IS THAT TRULY WHAT YOU WANT, EDDIE?

Eddie breathes, but he doesn’t need to. It goes in his mouth and then dissipates, and his lungs don’t function. “I want to see Richie,” he says, and it feels like Confession. “I want to talk to him.”

I CAN GRANT YOUR WISH. 

“What do you mean?”

YOU AND STANLEY URIS, YOU WERE NEVER MEANT TO DIE. I WILL RECTIFY THIS.

“Stanley? What do you mean?” Eddie asks, looking around desperately for the source of the voice, and then it’s light, and he is blinded by the sun. 

Eddie wakes up on the sidewalk right outside where the house on Neibolt used to be. In its place is police tape and a large sinkhole, all dirt and grass and nothing resembling a clown. Eddie’s stomach hurts, but after a moment, he realizes that he’s hungry. He touches his torso, and he is whole. 

“Richie,” he rasps, and his throat is so dry it hurts. He sits up and rubs at his eyes. “Fuck.” There’s a hard lump in his pocket, so he pulls out his phone and looks at it. It’s dead, of course. Even if it did have any charge left, the water damage probably ruined its chances of ever calling again. 

“There’s a corner store two blocks down,” Eddie tells himself, and then, “Also, I need to stop talking to myself if I’m alive again, I’ll end up where Bowers went.”

Then he thinks about that. 

I’m alive again, he thinks, and he thinks, and he thinks.

He can feel his breath again. He swallows, and he feels it. His heartbeat is loud compared to when it was nothing, and he touches the left side of his chest reverently. 

Eddie looks down at his flesh and bone human body. He is still covered in sewage and blood and the bandage on his cheek is barely holding on. He prods at it with his tongue and the stab wound is gone, so he peels off the medical tape and throws it aside on the sidewalk. It’s gross, but leaving his blood behind is the least of his worries right now 

He tries to stand up, but the energy required is brutal and it makes his head spin. Eddie at least manages to sit up, and then he looks at the concrete in front of him blurring into grey specks and galaxies of stones and sand. Awesome.

“Mike,” he mutters. “Mike is here.”

Eddie tries to wave down a few cars that pass, but they all drive by. He doesn’t blame them. He wouldn’t stop for someone who looked like him either, with the state of his hair, clothes, skin… everything.

Finally, a car passes, and Eddie lifts his hand weakly to try to flag them down. They slow to a stop and the passenger window rolls down.

“Hello?” a man’s voice says, and Eddie tries to stand again. 

“Can you help me?” he asks roughly. “I need to get to the library.”

The man gets out of his car and peers at Eddie. “What happened to you?” he asks. 

Eddie takes a deep breath. “Uh, these guys, they jumped me,” he starts, and the guy nods. 

“I get it,” he says quietly. “C’mon, I’ll help you.” Eddie reaches a hand out and the guy takes it, helps Eddie into the passenger seat, and starts the car again. Thank Christ he didn’t have to lie any further. 

“Thanks,” Eddie manages through his wheezing. The effort of getting up, even with help, was exhausting. 

“A bunch of guys jumped my boyfriend and killed him here, like a month ago,” the guy says quietly, and Eddie understands. “One of them was dressed as a fucking clown. I grew up here, and I wanted to take him to the fair, and he died.”

Eddie is quiet, and then he shifts to look at the man. “My best friend, when we were kids, he carved our initials into the kissing bridge,” he says. “He didn’t tell me, he just did it. He needed Derry to know that he was a boy who loved another boy and they couldn’t take that from him. He doesn’t know I know.” Eddie coughs and wraps his arm around his ribs, which hurt like a bitch. “I’m sorry about Adrian.”

The man shifts and glances at him. “You heard about it?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” Eddie says. He lets his forehead fall to the window of the man’s car. “It won’t happen again.”

The rest of the ride is quiet, and then they’re at the library. The man pulls his car up and parks out front. 

“Do you want me to walk you in?” he asks. 

“If you can,” Eddie says, “Thank you, uh…”

“Don, Don Hagarty,” he offers and pulls his key out of the ignition. 

“Eddie Kaspbrak,” Eddie says. Don helps him out of the car and into the library. 

“What are we doing here, Eddie?” Don asks as they walk inside. It’s dark, and Eddie feels a distinct chill run up his spine. 

“My friend Mike, he lives here. Upstairs,” he says and looks up as a light flickers on. Mike’s face is illuminated, and Eddie sags with relief. “Mike,” he calls, “It’s Eddie.”

“Eddie?” Mike frowns and rushes forward to help Don support him. “I thought…”

“I’ll tell you, as soon as I can fucking shower,” Eddie mutters and leans on Mike’s broad shoulder. “Thank you, Don, for getting me here,” he says, and Don nods. 

“You’re sure you’re good? Do you want my number, or,” Don offers, and Eddie shakes his head. 

“As soon as Mike patches me up I’m getting the fuck out of Derry, and you should too,” he says. Don nods. 

“Trust me, I am. Bye, Eddie. Good luck,” he says with a kind smile, and Eddie does his best to wave back. 

“Let’s get you upstairs,” Mike says, and then him and Eddie are limping through the stacks up to Mike’s small second-floor apartment. There are suitcases packed, and a small stack of two or three boxes in the corner, and Eddie realizes that Mike was leaving too. 

“I’m glad I caught you here,” he mumbles as Mike helps him down onto the cot in the corner. 

Mike chuckles and presses his hand against Eddie’s chest to help him settle in against the wall. “Me too. I was going to leave Tuesday.”

Eddie is silent for a second, and then his eyes fly open. “Can I use your phone?”

Ben answers first, even though Richie was the first person Eddie called. “Mike?” he answers, and Eddie smiles so wide it hurts. 

“Not quite,” he manages, “Hey Ben”

Ben is silent for a second, and then he speaks again. “You’re on speaker. Bill, Bev, and- and Richie are here.”

“Richie,” Eddie breathes immediately and tears start welling in his eyes. “Rich, I’m…”

“Eds?” Richie whispers, and Eddie knows he’s crying too. 

“I’m at Mike’s, I… I woke up by Neibolt, I was a ghost, Rich, I was with you the whole time,” he’s blubbering, and he’s crying, and nothing he says is probably intelligible to the rest of the Losers, but he got fucking tied to Richie and he needs to tell him everything, but Mike is sitting next to him and Ben, and Beverly, and Bill-

“My phone is ringing, it’s Patricia Uris,” Beverly says, and Eddie can’t help but let his face split in the hugest smile despite his tears, and snot, and sewage. 

“Stan! Stan, the, fucking, the thing that brought me back said Stan shouldn’t have died either,” Eddie says, and Richie is dead silent, and it’s killing him, but then Beverly is answering her phone. 

“Hello?” she answers, and it’s quiet. Eddie presses his forehead against Mike’s wall. 

“Stan’s alive?” Beverly says, and Eddie exhales. “That’s incredible.”

“Eddie,” Richie whispers, “I’m coming to Derry.”

“No!” Eddie yells, and Mike looks at him. “I’ll come to L.A., to you. Don’t come here.”

It’s silent for a second, and then Richie sniffs. “Let me buy your plane tickets, then,” he says in his fucking nasally, lovely voice, and Eddie’s stomach hurts with how much he fucking loves him. 

“I lost my wallet when that fucking clown killed me, so I might need you to,” Eddie says, and Richie laughs. 

“Okay, Eds,” Richie says. 

“Hey Richie, can I tell you something?” Eddie says suddenly, and he hears shuffling on the other end. Mike stands up and steps away just a little bit, to give the semblance of privacy.

“Eds,” Richie repeats, and he sounds dazed. Eddie wants to touch his face and kiss him and tell him he’s here, and he isn’t going anywhere, not this time.

“I know you carved our fucking initials at the kissing bridge in ‘90, and I only know because I went to do the same thing in ‘91 and you already had, you fucking jerk,” Eddie said all in a rush, like he used to as a kid.

“You fucking,” Richie whispers. “You fucking. I fucking love you, Eddie Spaghetti-”

“Buy me a plane ticket, Rich, tell me in L.A.” 

It’s quiet for a moment, and then Richie sniffs, a gross, snotty sniff, and Eddie laughs. 

“Your flight is in three hours, you’ll be in L.A. by morning,” Richie mumbles. “I’ll pick you up at LAX.”

“Thank you,” Eddie says softly. “I can’t wait to see you.”

“I can’t wait to see your mom, it’s been so long,” Richie manages back, and Eddie bites back a laugh.

“I need to shower, if I’m going to the airport,” Eddie says. 

“I have your suitcases, from Derry.”

“Why?”

“I couldn’t leave them.”

“I’ll see you in the morning, Rich.”

“Okay. Be safe.”

“You know me, I’m always safe.”

Richie hangs up first, and Eddie feels as though Pennywise has ripped his intestines in half again just from the sound of the dial tone. 

“You can borrow some of my clothes, and I’ll see what I can do while you’re in the shower,” Mike says after a few moments of silence. “Don handed me this while you were barely conscious, he said it was sitting on the sidewalk next to you.” 

It was Richie’s black bomber jacket. 

It was stiff with dried blood from Eddie’s wound and it smelled worse than anything ever had, even Pennywise’s rotting corpse in the dead of the Derry sewers, but Eddie reached out to touch it. 

“I’m gonna clean it up,” Mike says. “It’s leather, but I’ll see what I can do. Do you think you can shower on your own?”

Eddie nods, and Mike leaves, and Eddie breathes clean air and feels giddy with the truth. 

He loves Richie, and Richie loves him, and he’s seeing him in 12 hours. 

The flight is easy. Eddie passes out almost instantly with his head against the window and his arms wrapped in Richie’s jacket. The shirt is Mike’s, and it’s far too big, but he tucks the front in and doesn’t mind too much. 

He sleeps through it all, and then he’s in Los Angeles. Eddie lets himself exist mindlessly as he walks through the airport until he can see Richie. 

Richie Tozier is still tall, he still has curly hair and thick glasses, his face is still specked with stubble. He’s still wearing a pink hawaiian shirt buttoned over a t-shirt. Eddie’s never loved somebody more. 

“Richie,” he gasps, and then he runs forward, drops the small duffle he had brought along with him, and presses himself into Richie’s chest. Richie hesitates for a second, but then he wraps his arms around Eddie, and he feels enveloped, and warm, and fucking home. Richie is more of his home than Derry or New York have ever been.

“Hey, Spaghetti Head,” Richie whispers into Eddie’s hair, and Eddie is so happy. They’re holding each other, and it feels like they’re meant to be there. Eddie slots perfectly against Richie’s body and it feels like the choices he’s made before this moment were all leading up to this moment. 

A camera clicks and Eddie starts to tug away, but Richie holds him tight. 

“Can we go home?” Eddie whispers, and Richie hugs him harder, one more time, and they do.

Richie’s apartment is exactly the way Eddie remembers it. There’s less trash around, and there’s three less Losers, but the wooden table is still sitting between the green corduroy couch and the TV. The ouija board, tucked in its box, is sitting on the TV stand. Eddie rubs his shin when he looks at the table. 

“So, uh, this is me,” Richie says quietly.

“I know, I spent… A while, here,” Eddie replies and gives Richie’s hand a squeeze. “It’s nice, now that you’re not actively- or inactively- grieving.”

“Yeah, and who’s fault was that?” Richie retorts. 

“Fucking Pennywise, Rich,” Eddie says and raises his eyebrows. It was the same banter they knew, but it was quiet now. Soft.

“Make yourself at home, mi casa es tu casa,” Richie says and gestures to the living room. 

“I’ve lived here for like a month already,” Eddie says, “This is home more than New York with Myra ever was.”

Richie’s cheeks are pink. “Did you watch me shower? Ooh, Spaghetti, how scandalous,” he says with a wink. It’s not as Sure as it normally feels, not for them, for EddieAndRiche, but it’s enough, and Eddie loves it. 

“No, I didn’t,” Eddie retorts. “I was very respectful, idiot.”

“How gallant,” Richie smiles.

There’s a beat of silence, and then they both begin speaking at once. 

“So do you-” Richie says. 

“Oh and-” Eddie starts, and then stops. “You go.”

Richie fidgets uncomfortably and then meets Eddie’s eyes. “Do you still want me to tell you?”

Eddie sucks his lower lip into his mouth and bites down on it with his teeth. “Yeah, tell me,” he says after a second. Richie steps closer to him and touches his hip lightly. His other hand wraps around Eddie’s torso and pulls him closer to Richie’s warm body. 

“I love you,” Richie whispers, and Eddie kisses him. 

It’s quick. When Eddie imagined kissing Richie as a kid, he thought it would be everything. But, now, after Neibolt, after the haunting, after Derry, it’s just a kiss. It’s Richie and Eddie, and they’re kissing, and Eddie can’t remember why they never did this before. 

When it ends, which is fairly quick after it starts, Eddie kisses Richie again, shorter, and then grins. “I fucking love you,” he says, and Richie grins back. 

“Thank fucking god for that.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank u all for reading!!! i started this as a break from my novel during nanowrimo and now it's ... this? i have another Lengthy reddie fic in the works, stay tuned!
> 
> title from harry styles' watermelon sugar


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